


Edge of Sleep

by Anyones_Ghost



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyones_Ghost/pseuds/Anyones_Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You could stay,’ She says, heart kicking as Asami blinks, and she rushes to finish, ‘If you want to, I mean.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before the Big Bi Holiday ✌

The breath that passes Korra’s lips is short and sharp. Returning to the temple she’d slipped away; away from the excited talk, from the dinner, from the questions, and instead had been trying to meditate, alone in the shadows and the breeze, fighting to relax the tension that still gripped her form, hollowed her out. She watched as warm, crimson evening had given way to dark, weary night, and as the island slipped into sleep she began the lonely walk to her room, shadow splitting the floor. She’s fully intent on lying down, shutting her eyes, and begging sleep to claim her, but a figure moving in the moonlight jolts her in place, arms raised by force of habit.

  It’s not an intruder, not a threat, but Asami who turns, breathing out a match, and Korra’s stance loosens as she watches the quiet smoke curl into the static air. Thin candles flicker with warm light that licks shadows across the wood of the cabinet, chasing stripes up the walls and caressing the skin of Asami’s face. Her lips part in shock at Korra’s silent arrival, and the Avatar feels her chest tighten as she slides the door shut. She hasn’t seen Asami since the girl had climbed into the flight suit; hasn’t spoken to her since emerging from the Spirit World with Kuvira, and for some slow-building, unfathomable reason, she feels uncertain, nervous in her presence.

  Asami lays the dead match on the cabinet. ‘Tenzin said you’d be here,’ She says, softly, ‘But when you weren’t, I waited.’

  Korra watches Asami’s face, watches her flitting green eyes.

  ‘I just needed some time alone.’ She replies. ‘It was kind of an eventful day.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Asami starts, ‘You’re probably exhausted. If you want me to, I’ll leave.’

  She starts toward the door, and Korra’s heart hitches in her throat as she steps forward, as she raises her hands. She can’t; can’t let her go, let her walk out.

  ‘No! No, it’s alright.’ Asami stops, and Korra smiles, chest fluttering. ‘I’m actually glad that you’re here.’

  And it could just be the lighting, or it could be her imagination, but as Asami smiles and ducks her head, Korra swears she sees warm colour cut across the girl’s cheeks. They stand at odds, eyes not quite able to meet.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Asami gestures loosely to the flickering candles. ‘It was getting dark, and I –’

  ‘S’fine.’ Korra replies.

  She feels her skin itch as the silence pans out. Asami’s eyes are downturned, her mouth drawn and Korra can practically feel the sorrow the girl is holding, trying to hide. Subconsciously, Korra’s fingers rise to coax the flames, and she pieces the events of the day together, sadness pricking her veins. She knows how Asami’s feeling, she’s felt the same way before; a confused, crashing exhaustion, at the edge of sleep yet unable to reach it, and caught up in a torrent of sharp uncertainty. Relieved by the end of conflict, reassured by the outcome, but all the same crushed, afraid by what it took to get here, the price that was paid to still be standing. Silenced by the inability to articulate such strange sorrow in the face of celebration.

  ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ She finally says, the words small, insignificant in the rolling tide of grief.

  Asami smiles softly, green eyes sad and Korra watches her carefully, fingers dancing through the flames.

  ‘I wish there was something I could have done.’

  ‘So do I.’ Asami says quietly, mouth tightening.

  Korra stills her fingers, draws her hand from the flames. The day had been bittersweet; victory had not been without loss, and even now she fights not to cringe against the word, against the tension in her gut. Victory. What came with it? Peace, yes, and plans for a wedding, safety for the city, for its people; a new entry to the Spirit World. But as she watches Asami, watches her wet eyes reflect the dancing flames and her thin fingers grip her elbows, feels the weight of her lost time, Korra doesn’t feel like she’s won.

  She lets the silence trickle, closing them in as she thinks of what Asami would do if their positions were reversed, and as she starts to speak so does the girl and they both stop, heat crossing Korra’s face as Asami smiles gently, inclines her head as a sign to continue. Korra smiles sheepishly, feels her hand rise to tug at her hair, an unconscious act that couples the nervous flutter in her stomach.

  ‘You could stay,’ She says, heart kicking as Asami blinks, and she rushes to finish, ‘If you want to, I mean.’

  Asami laughs gently, a hand ghosting to her mouth. Korra starts, feels her face flush, heart jolting.

  ‘What?’ She asks, ‘What’s so funny?’

  Asami smiles, reaches to untangle Korra’s fingers from her hair. ‘I was just about to ask you if I could.’

  ‘Oh.’ Korra breathes, and returning the smile is innate.

  Outside the moon has seated itself in velvet darkness, the stars lazily winking around it as its pale light stretches to brush the glass of the window. Korra draws her fingers from Asami’s, head ducking as she nods towards the bed. Asami wordlessly passes but Korra doesn’t turn, instead her eyes train on the flickering flames, and she listens to the familiar sound of sheets drawn back, of Asami’s form fitting into her bed. She could bend the light from the candles, but instead leans to blow them out, one by one, the room sliding into fuzzy greyness as her heart flutters against her chest.

  She steadies her hands against the wood of the cabinet, willing the blood to stop thundering through her veins. The candlesticks cast wavering shadows in the moonlight, and she swallows, heat pricking her skin as Asami sighs her name. She turns, eyesight fuzzy in the dim light, but she can make out the other girl, dark hair kissing the pillow and arm raised, holding the covers. Korra takes a breath, crosses the floor, feet whispering against the wooden boards. She climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping in welcome, the sheets cool against her skin, and she picks out Asami’s smile, gentle and tired, as she moves her arm to drape the blankets over them. 

  There’s just enough space for the two of them, Asami on her back, and Korra curled on her side, knees inches from Asami’s thighs, and head foggy with whether or not this close enough; whether or not to move closer. She can feel the pocket of space between them, warm and small and possibly impenetrable. It’s been a while, time measured in years and uncertainty and separate beds, and Korra wonders if this is the same, will be the same. Or maybe more. This last possibility sends her heart racing, but as Asami’s cold feet brush against hers the thread of thought is broken, and she can’t help hissing at the icy contact.

  ‘Sorry,’ Asami murmurs, the word curving the smile on her lips.

   Korra breathes a laugh. ‘S’fine.’

  Their smiles softly fade, and Asami sighs, but neither of them speak. They just lay there, the light of the moon sliced by the window frame, a harsh-angled shape crossing over the bed. The dusty static night buzzes around them, and Korra watches Asami’s eyes flicker, fixed following cracks in the ceiling. She watches her lips, the slope of her throat, and then she shuts her eyes, arms crossing against her chest, as if the pressure can stay her heat beat.

  She remembers the first night Asami had slept here, how she could still see Zaheer’s eyes, could still feel the air being dragged from her lungs, the poison bite her veins. How she’d been in pieces, struggling to clutch herself together, so tired of trying that Asami had done it for her, had dimmed the lights and crawled beside her, ignoring the other girl’s insistence that she was fine. How her silhouette glowed silver in the buzzing darkness, how she fitted so easily to the line of the sheets, the drape of the blanket. How her arms had been a blessing, her features calm, her soft eyes patient, kind.

  Their breathing had been slow, in unison, and Asami watched over the other girl, fingers carding lightly through her hair, listening to Korra’s choked words, murmuring gentle replies until her eyes began to itch and she couldn’t hold them open. But Korra didn’t sleep.  It was hushed, everything was so beautifully hushed, and she watched Asami’s face, watched her dreaming as she fought to block out the bad, fought to anchor the good, and she felt her heartbeat flutter as Asami sighed, pressed herself closer and Korra’s skin lit up.  Her face had been inches away, lips parted and breathing low and Korra marvelled at her, marvelled at how they managed to get here, to be together in one piece.

  When Korra woke she was gone, the sheets on her side crumpled and cold, but Asami was everywhere, her soft voice echoing and her body etched in Korra’s memory, her smell fast on her skin and she breathed in the air like a criminal, heart glitching. They passed through the day like shadows, didn’t speak of the night before, didn’t question it, but that evening as the sun split the horizon their fingers had knotted together, and Asami brought her to her room, helped her dress for bed and Korra’s blood beat fast at the feeling of the girl’s light fingers.

  The week bled past and it became a silent agreement, their positions unspoken. Even though Asami’s room was just doors down the hall, even though there was enough space for spare bedding to be spread on the floor, when evening fell and tired bones weighed heavy, Asami would wordlessly slide between her sheets, draw Korra to her. They didn’t question it, they didn’t know how to, and when she held Korra after nightmares plagued, her light eyes understood and it all quietly slid into place.

   The morning of Jinora’s ceremony broke as a cold dawn, and Korra’s hands trembled, from nervousness, from exhaustion, from _something else,_ and as her fingers clenched against her numb legs Asami watched her face, watched her blue eyes cloud over and felt sorrow rise in her throat. She knelt beside her, closed their hands together.

  ‘I want you to know that I’m here for you,’ She’d said, and Korra had felt her heart shift, felt the air around them change.

  Going back to the South had been painful; she’d watched Asami’s figure grow smaller and lonelier until the dock was out of sight, and the remembrance of her skin itched her palms. She’d gotten letters, everyone had written straight away, but she just couldn’t reply. She didn’t know how, didn’t know what to say to convince them everything was fine, to convince them that she was okay when in reality she was far, far from it. She read the letters til the words ran and bled across her vision, and she thought that she would pass out from exhaustion, from the strength her friends tried to give her despite being so far away. The strength she didn’t know how to use.

  She’d lain in the stillness after another failed attempt at walking, head heavy and heart on the floor, and she thought of Asami, what she’d say, what she’d do, how her eyes would tell her it was alright and everything would feel like home. And she felt something build like a wave inside her, crash across her heart, and she fumbled in the darkness for Asami’s letter, held it to her like it could save her, and felt the vastness of her bed.

  She wanted so badly for Asami to be there, to feel her, real against her skin, warm against her sheets, arms welcoming, voice soft against the harshness of the dark. She wanted to turn her over and watch her, to weigh her reaction and feather her hands over body and touch her, touch her like she wanted to; to pull her to her, pull her down and move with her, to bury her face in her dark hair, in her neck. To taste her name on her lips.

  She remembers how the next day she’d written back, tongue-tied through the paper, remembers how she needed to walk, needed to see her again. She feels her face warm, wonders what Asami would think, if she could read her thoughts. Wonders what she’d hear if she could listen to the other girl’s. Korra stirs, slowly opens her eyes.

  _She’s probably sleeping by now._

  But she’s not, she’s awake, the paleness of the moon spotting her eyes, her chest rising and falling softly and Korra watches, watches the weak light kiss her skin and she can’t help it, can’t help raising a finger to trace across the girl's jawline. Asami’s eyes shift and Korra almost pulls away, her movements stilling as Asami sighs and turns, her warm breath dusting Korra’s face, close and light against her mouth. And she smiles, small in the fuzzy grey light, fingertips floating to ghost Korra’s cheek.

  ‘Just like we used to.’ She whispers after a moment, and Korra smiles in return but doesn’t speak, and as Asami’s thumb pads softly against her face she leans into the touch.

  Korra feels her chest tighten and they watch each other with quiet eyes, the silence swelling with all the words they haven’t said, could say. They’ve held each other, held on through absence, through separation. They came together by chance and grew closer through careful care. Their hands are familiar, have lifted and fought and held onto each other; their arms are like home. The events of the day sit heavily on their tired shoulders but though their presence is felt, it’s unimportant. The creation of the new portal is secondary, minuscule next to the fluttering in Korra’s throat and the pounding in her head as Asami’s touch traces gently across her skin.

  ‘I’ve missed this.’ The girl says quietly, voice small.

  Korra feels herself warm. ‘I know. Me too.’

  Asami watches her, watches the blue of her eyes, and Korra can feel the questions boil beneath the surface, can feel the three years hang about them like a sheet.

  ‘You know I had to go.’ She says finally, softly, ‘You know I had to do it alone.’

  ‘I know,’ Asami worries her lip, her green eyes unwavering, ‘That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.’

  Korra feels her heart surge, feels Asami’s fingers feather against her skin.

  ‘I missed you too.’ It’s a whisper, almost breathless. ‘So badly.’

  Asami smiles, nose wrinkling, and Korra smiles back, her heart in her throat as the girl’s touch stills against her face. She watches Asami’s careful eyes, glinting as they lower, watches her lips, parted and wet, and Korra feels something inside her swell. She’s fought, with spirits, with friends, with herself; with giant machines and groups with warped perceptions. She’s been beaten, been crushed, she’s dragged herself back together, lonely and broken and lost. She’s battled near-demons, battled to protect, and she’s staved off death, but now it’s time to be brave, and as Asami’s eyes crawl to meet hers, her blood spikes her veins and she breaks the remaining distance, presses their lips together.

  She feels the girl freeze, feels her silent surprise, but then Asami melts against her side, slight fingers rising to graze her face. And when she draws away her opening eyes are ethereal, soft green melting deep emerald as she looks over Korra, takes in the curve of her lip. Her fingers card through her hair, brushing apart the dark strands that fall to shadow Korra’s dusty skin.

  ‘I was worried you wouldn’t make it,’ She murmurs, ‘I was worried that you’d lost yourself.’

 And Korra can feel the girl’s burden, it taints her small smile, her soft skin, and she tastes it when she leans to kiss her again, this time Asami trembling, with skitterish hands searching to wrap around Korra’s neck.

  ‘But I didn’t,’ The words muffled against Asami’s lips. ‘I made it. I’m right here.’

  Asami makes a little noise like she’s breaking and Korra holds her, closes the sweet few inches to press their bodies together in an embrace. And as flames spike her heart, it’s as if no time has passed; as if they were never apart. Neither of them speaks, neither of them moves save to brush fingers gently through hair, and this is it; this is the slow, warming peace that Korra has been searching for, the aching hollow that cried to be filled is finally being pieced back together, and heavy eyes fall shut.

  She’s on the edge of sleep when Asami’s lips move through her hair to find her ear, when her low voice whispers what Korra fathoms to be the words she’s only imagined. She doesn’t catch them, not fully, but it’s quiet, so quiet, the dark air cocooning, soft, still, and she can’t push herself to ask. But as sleep slowly winds around her she feels Asami pull her close, warm, real against her, her hand around her waist. And she doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to guess. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [ tumblr](http://burgledturts.tumblr.com/)


End file.
